SargeDoyle Oneshot collection
by zat-writes
Summary: A collection of oneshots about Sarge/Doyle including oneshot titles and summaries. WILL CONTAIN SPOILERS FOR SEASON 13.
1. Shooting Range

**Author's Note: This first oneshot is more of a friendship fic, but they will get more sshippy henceforth.**

Title: Shooting Range

Summary: Sarge takes Doyle on a date to the shooting range.

Genre: Friendship

Rating: T

Doyle sat with his legs crossed at his desk, his chin resting in the palm of his hand as he stared off at nothing. There was a lot on his mind. He thought about the two armed guards standing outside his door. He thought about his inability to take a bullet and how two mad men now had the key to possibly wiping out all life on Chorus. Moreover, he thought about how absolutely right Kimball was about him. How he had royally fucked up. How he was a total, spineless, coward unworthy of the title General.

All this weighed heavily on the Federal General's mind. He never wanted any of this. He was no soldier. He was a secretary who had this job thrust upon him. Doyle was not cut out for this and now his people would pay for it.

The whole situation was an awful mess that he wish he could just undo. But that's not how life works. Nothing can be undone. To try would be a waste of time. An effort in vain. The only option was to try moving forward and pave a better path ahead. Of course it is always easier said than done.

A sigh of self pity pushing past Doyle's lips just before there was a knock at his door. It was a fairly loud knock. Firm and authoritative. The Federal General looked towards his door with a tilt of his head as he heard gruff shouting just past the door. It was a familiar, unforgettable voice. The voice of Colonel Sarge.

Doyle stood from his seat and approached the door slowly, evaluating Sarge's tone. It was hard to distinguish what type of yelling was going on, but Doyle trusted that Sarge would not harm him or remind him of how pathetic he was. So, without any more time wasted on thought, Doyle opened his door and found Sarge standing on his toes to shout in the face of one of his guards.

"And another thing," Sarge continued his rant before Doyle cleared his throat to get the red soldier's attention. Sarge immediately looked at Doyle for a moment before turning back to the guard and saying, "We are not done here."

Then the rowdy military man got down from his tip toes and turned to Doyle, who promptly motioned for the Colonel to come inside. Sarge wasted no time before marching right in with his proud, confident stride, pushing past Doyle with ease. Doyle apologized to his guards and closed his door forthwith. Then he followed Sarge to the center of his quarters.

"Dang. Your room is pretty nice. A lot nicer than the rest of ours," Sarge marvelled as he looked around. "Maybe I should become a General. You still willing to promote me?"

"Forgive my manners, Sarge, but I would much rather discuss why you are here," Doyle said with a low, tired tone.

"I came to see if you were still pouting," Sarge replied, crossing his arms over his armor. "You still being a big baby because that Kimball lady called you names?"

"I'm afraid I am," Doyle said with a bitter tone and a nod. "I guess you should leave now then."

"Wait a minute there, Petunia, I also stopped by to see if you wanted to go to the shooting range," Sarge said with his usual gruff tone. "Shooting things always clears your head. Makes you feel right. Maybe you'll stop being so scared of guns."

Doyle paused before shaking his head and saying, "Thanks for the offer, but I think I'd rather be alone right now... maybe... some other time."

"Nonsense. Being alone never helped anything," Sarge argued. He was one stubborn man. "You'd love to come with me."

"You can't just make up my mind for me," Doyle retorted half-heartedly.

"Sure I can. Now let's get a move on," Sarge said proudly as he approached the door again, pushing past Doyle one more time.

Doyle watched Sarge head out the door before sighing and rolling his eyes. Then he followed the stubborn man down the corridor. Something told him that he would regret this decision.

Once at the shooting range, Sarge and Doyle selected their guns. Of course Sarge chose a shotgun, his weapon of choice, and Doyle selected the standard assault rifle. It was not his first time handling a gun, but it still made him a tad nervous. Guns were not his favorite things to be around.

The two began aiming at targets. Sarge was the first to fire, but the range was too short to hit anything. Doyle, on the other hand, took his sweet time lining up his shot and shooting the cone. He was in no hurry to complete this task. He was merely humoring Sarge. That and perhaps he had grown a little bored of his pity party.

After a couple of shots were fired, Doyle began watching Sarge. He failed to hit a single target with that short ranged weapon, yet he never stopped. Sarge was truly the most headstrong, stubborn buffoon Doyle had ever met. He must have seen the downright senselessness of using such a weapon for this sort of task.

"Sarge, if I may, wouldn't you actually hit the targets if you used a gun with a longer range than the shotgun," Doyle suggested.

"Nope," Sarge replied without looking away from the range.

"But surely you see the problem with this situation," Doyle replied more earnestly. "Switching it out for something better might help you."

"Not gonna do it, Petunia," Sarge said more sternly than before. "The shotgun is my weapon of choice! It's the best damn gun I've ever handled."

"Well then... I admire your conviction," Doyle shrugged. The General then turned his attention back to the targets set out in front of him and continued shooting traffic cones.

After a few more shots were fired, Doyle decided that he was done humoring Sarge. He lowered his rifle and turned to face Sarge before saying, "This was... fun, but I think I should go now. I have other things to tend to."

"You mean like sulking and pouting and being a baby," Sarge asked, not even turning to face Doyle.

"That's none of your-" Doyle was interrupted by a loud blast from Sarge's shotgun. The General frowned and gripped his rifle tight. "It's none of your busin-" Another shot cut him off. "You are by far the rudest-" And another shot. "You are impossible!"

"And you are a big scaredy baby," Sarge laughed, finally lowering his gun and turning to face his superior officer. "You're afraid of guns. Afraid of battle. Afraid your own shadow probably."

"Well, we all can't be tough and courageous like you," Doyle shouted, finally having enough of people telling him how cowardly he was. He knew very well how pathetic he was. "Not all of us can be without fear. Not all of us are war hungry, mad men like you, Sarge!"

Sarge scoffed and shook his head. "Some smart guy once said that courage is not being without fear but overcoming it and such," Sarge replied with his chin cocking upward. "Think it was Shakespeare or somethin. Yep. Definitely Shakespeare."

"... What's your point," Doyle asked cautiously.

"My point is that you need to man up and overcome your fears," Sarge said firmly, throwing the barrel of his shotgun over his shoulder. "You're gonna have a whole army of pirates led by two mercenaries trying to kill you. You gotta get brave and keep yourself alive!"

Doyle went quiet and stared down at his feet briefly. Then he looked back up at Sarge and smiled, though his helmet hid it. "I see what you're getting at," Doyle said, extending a hand between them and patting Sarge on the shoulder. "Thank you for the words of advice."

"No problem, Nancy boy," Sarge chuckled.

There was a pause as they stood there. Once Doyle realized he was staring, he cleared his throat and turned back to the shooting range. Sarge followed suit and they began shooting at traffic cones once again. All the while, Doyle wore a smile and pondered if Shakespeare had really said that quote Sarge told him about.


	2. Off Roading

Title: Off Roading

Summary: Doyle gets talked into taking a drive with Sarge. A mistake he soon regrets... or perhaps not.

Genre: Romance

Rating: T

The warthog zoomed over a small bump on the terrain, causing the vehicle to jump slightly. The ground below moved fast as the all terrain vehicle speeded over the rocks and hills of the mountainous area. Loud music played as the vehicle sped along, partially drowning out the sounds of panic emitting from the passenger seat.

"You're a fucking lunatic," cried Doyle as he clung to his seat for dear life. He should have known agreeing to any pastime with Sarge would end like this.

Sarge snickered in reply as he turned them towards a larger hill and floored it. Doyle felt his stomach fluttering as the vehicle was launched off the hill, catching some air before landing. Dirt was kicked up in their wake as the warthog tore through the dirt and pebbles, which dirtied Doyle's white armor.

"Ready for a big jump, Nancy," Sarge asked rhetorically as he steered them towards yet another large hill.

"No. No. No," Doyle cried as they zoomed closer and closer to the next terrifying jump. Out of sheer instinct, Doyle threw himself over and clung to Sarge. The General held on tight as Sarge launched them off another hill. "You're a jackass!"

Sarge cheered loudly as the warthog skidded to a stop, kicking up yet another cloud of dirt. Doyle, who still clung to Sarge out of fear for another round of this awful off roading trip, hid the face of his helmet in the crook of Sarge's neck. That is until Sarge cleared his throat and snapped Doyle out of it.

"My apologies," Doyle murmured as he released Sarge from his frightened grip. "That was unprofessional of me."

"You really are a big baby," Sarge said, looking over at the coward with what Doyle assumed was a disappointed look. It was hard to read people with their faces always hidden. "Afraid of a few itty bitty jumps in a jeep."

Doyle huffed and crossed his arms. "Those were not itty bitty," he retorted defensively. "You are by far the worst driver I've ever met."

"Just wait until you see Caboose drive," Sarge scoffed. "He might actually kill you. It's his specialty."

"Noted."

"Are you really that afraid of a little rough terrain, Nancy," Sarge asked, his hands letting go if the wheel and dropping to his sides.

"Only when we're being thrown around like rag dolls as a jeep barrels over hill after hill," Doyle laughed with a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head. "You truly are a mad man, which is honestly pretty interesting."

Doyle could feel that Sarge was smiling, which made his smile as well. Even though the red soldier was most likely insane, Doyle found him rather endearing. He had a feeling that he was one of few(if any) to view Sarge that was. Which would be a shame if it were true.

"So, wanna head back now, twinkle toes," Sarge asked as he gripped the wheel again.

The General paused and thought about it. On one hand he was terrified of the jumps and other insane stunts Sarge pulled, but on the other hand he enjoyed spending time with Sarge and feeling those butterflies. Not to mention clinging to the lunatic was an admittedly nice perk.

"No. I might as well get use to this constant jostling," Doyle said with a sigh.

Sarge replied with a hearty chuckle, gripping the wheel tight. Without a moment's thought, Sarge had them zooming off towards a steep incline. Doyle did not need to wait for the next jump or sharp turn to take his chance and cling tightly to Sarge like before. He was happy to hold on as if his life depended on it.


	3. The Obstacle Course

Title: The Obstacle Course

Summary: Sarge shows off for Doyle at the obstacle course. Then it's Doyle's turn.

Genre: Romance

Rating: T

Doyle sat in his room, writing down a report and thinking out possible plans of attack. They needed to make their next move, but every idea he had would most likely result in failure. Losing more men was not much of an option for them right now. But they desperately needed that key back, lest the mercenaries gain the ability to use it, god forbid.

A knock at his door shook Doyle free from his thoughts. Doyle recognized the knock as the firm, authoritative knock Sarge used. With a smile tugging at his lips, Doyle stood and approached his door. When it opened, Sarge immediately pushed his way in like usual. He either knew that he was always welcome or simply did not care if Doyle wanted him there or not. Doyle liked to believe it was the prior.

"Guess what, Nancy boy," Sarge said as he marched straight to the center of the room.

"What?"

"I'm gonna be your new bodyguard," Sarge announced proudly. "I decided so myself!"

Doyle grinned and raised a brow as he took a few steps into his own room. With hands perching on his hips and his weight shifting to one leg, Doyle asked, "Is that so? And are you certain you're cut out to be my bodyguard?"

"Of course I am," Sarge scoffed with a wave of his hand, cocking his chin up.

"I'm not sure you have what is takes," Doyle sighed, feigning disinterest and looking down at his hands as if to check his nails for dirt. "Sure, you're a born soldier, but you might not be able to fight off their best men, who will certainly be sent to try and kill me."

"Nonsense! I'm the best damn soldier here and I can take whatever those two timing, back stabbing, good for nothing, mercenaries throw at me," Sarge boasted proudly, sounding almost offended by what Doyle had said.

"Prove it then, Mister big, bad, and ready to fight," Doyle snickered playfully, poking Sarge's chest with each word. "Show me what you can do."

"With pleasure, Petunia," Sarge said proudly, popping his knuckles and his neck confidently.

After that, Sarge took Doyle by the wrist and pulled him out of his quarters and all the way to the training area. Once there, Sarge released Doyle and marched right up to Wash and immediately demanded to test the new, unfinished obstacle course. After a brief argument, the ex-freelancer gave up and allowed Sarge to do as he pleased. So long as he did not ruin anything.

Doyle stood where he was left and watched Sarge limber up with a fond smile. He had grown to appreciate that stubborn, loud mouthed, trigger happy, nutjob. Each wild thing he did only seemed to make Doyle appreciate him more, which was odd for the general.

When Sarge was ready, he shot Doyle a glance that he could only be assume was a wink. Then, just as quick as he gave the glance, Sarge bolted inside with his shotgun at the ready. Doyle watched in awe as the older man leaped over hurdles and shot targets. Sarge was surprisingly agile. While he certainly was no Carolina or Wash, he still impressed Doyle.

Though perhaps it was his bias towards Sarge that really made Doyle so impressed by every move he made. After all, the General had formed a little crush on the gruff bastard.

Once Sarge completed the course, Doyle clapped for his crush. Sarge had not finished with record time and he had not shot a perfect score, but Doyle gave credit where credit was due. Sarge had managed to impress him, whether it was due to a bias or not, and Doyle was not one to withhold praise.

"Bravo, Sarge," Doyle said with a grin that was hidden behind his back. "That was quite a show you put on."

"I know. I was great," Sarge said proudly, tapping his chest with his fist. "I was fantastic. There's a reason you promoted me after all."

"Because you asked," Doyle snickered, giving Sarge a playful shove.

Sarge stared at him shortly before holding out his shotgun. "Your turn," he said with an almost wicked tone. Although no one could see it, Doyle was positive that he was wearing a shit-eating grin.

"I beg your pardon," Doyle asked with almost an offended tone.

"You're gonna run this course too, Princess," Sarge said with a devious chuckle.

Doyle frowned, looking back and forth between Sarge and the shotgun. Then he glanced around at the few soldiers who were now watching him. Clearing his throat, Doyle snagged the gun and said, "Right. Then I guess I shall do that then."

Then, with a nervous sigh, Doyle approached the starting line. He did not do well under pressure, which was another reason that he was oh so wrong for this job. He did not mind his men watching as much as he minded Sarge watching him. He was afraid of embarrassing himself in front of the man he had an innocent crush on. However, he also wanted to impress Sarge. He wanted to show Sarge that he was not just a coward or a fucking Princess.

Doyle took a deep, calming breath and took off into the obstacle course. He jumped over the first hurdle and immediately aimed the shotgun at the first target. It was not a bull's eye, but it would suffice. Moving on, Doyle ducked under a wooden board that blocked the top half if the hall and hurried along to the next part.

Three shots were fired at three human shaped targets. Two of the three were passable, but the third missed entirely. Damn the short range on that stupid shotgun. Of course Doyle did not dwell on the thought as he jumped over yet another hurdle, shooting one more target after falling to a crouching position.

Next came the hard part. Doyle have to make his way down the course with the targets shooting back. Albeit they were shooting practice ammunition, but still a bit nervous wracking for the General.

Taking another deep breath, Doyle hid behind a blockade and readied himself. Then he peeked over and took aim. He blasted the first target, which signalled the automated turret to shut down. Doyle then leaped over to the next cement block and prepare to shoot the next or the remaining four targets. If he had a longer range weapon, he would have taken out at least another one before making his move.

Doyle peeked over the blockade only to duck behind it once more, having been shot at. Taking a deep breath once again, Doyle readied himself and peeked over again, shooting at one more target. Unfortunately, he missed and the turrets shot at him again. His reaction time was too slow and he was nearly shot.

Doyle cursed himself and his aim before trying again. With his next shot, Doyle hit his very first bull's eye. He took no time to celebrate though. He had a stubborn, southern man to impress. So, doing as he did before, Doyle leaped to the nearest blockade.

Two more shots were made, taking down two targets that were mounted near each other. Then Doyle hurried to the next blockade, just barely evading the bullets shot at him.

"You can do this, Donald," the General assured himself quickly before reading Sarge's shotgun. Doyle held his breath as he popped up and shot the target like all the rest. A sense of relief washed over him as he stood and bolted down the remaining stretch of the obstacle course.

"You go, Nancy," Sarge cheered from where he stood.

Doyle grinned and looked over at Sarge, who was holding up two thumbs for the General to see. It was an understatement to say that Doyle was elated to see that Sarge was proud of him. That feeling was unfortunately short lived.

Doyle, who had not been watching where he was going, plowed right into a wooden board he was supposed to duck under. The force of his collision knocked him back and left him blacked out momentarily on the floor. He regained his bearings quickly, but the accident was still staggering.

Before Doyle knew it, Sarge and Wash were at his side. A sense of total embarrassment burned inside Doyle as he took Sarge's hand and was pulled up. His body felt like it was on fire and his heart was racing. Not to mention the sinking feeling in his gut.

"You okay there, Doyle," Wash asked.

"I'm fine and I really should be going now," Doyle blurted as he pulled his hand away from Sarge. When he tried to walk, Doyle almost immediately fell over. He was very dizzy from the knock to his head.

"Sarge, why don't you help him back to his quarters... I think he needs rest," Wash said cautiously, obviously hiding his judgement.

"Should I get that crazy doctor lady," Sarge asked as he took a firm hold of Doyle's arm, causing him to blush more than he was.

"That really won't be necessary," Doyle grumbled as he looped his arm over the other's shoulder, using Sarge for balance. How embarrassing would that be? "Let's just go already."

Doyle was then escorted back to his quarters, watching his feet in shame as they passed some cackling Rebels. Today was not a good day. Or so Doyle thought.

"You got your ass kicked by a board," Sarge snickered as he helped Doyle down the long corridor that lead towards the General's quarters.

"Oh ha-ha," Doyle feigned amusement.

"You didn't stand a chance," Sarge added, his tone making it clear he was wearing a stupid grin.

"If you must know, you were distracting me with that racket you were making," Doyle stated, turning his nose up and looking away from the red soldier.

"Oh really? Would you like to go back and try it again then, Princess," Sarge said with an almost serious tone.

"Not a chance," Doyle scoffed.

Sarge laughed and gave Doyle a squeeze. Doyle responded by pulling Sarge closer and letting the forehead of his helmet press against Sarge's. Perhaps he was being too affectionate, but Doyle did not care. He was too old to deal with a stupid, secret crush. He may as well let Sarge know now and get it over with.

"You did okay up until you hit that wall," Sarge said as Doyle opened his mouth to confess. The praise was a bit out of place and surprised Doyle.

"Really?"

"Yep. You aren't that bad," Sarge said as they finally came upon the General's quarters. "You hesitate too much, but are otherwise passable as a soldier."

"Thanks... I guess," Doyle murmured as Sarge sat him down on his bed.

"So, can I be your bodyguard or not," Sarge asked as he sat beside Doyle.

"Oh... As impressed as I am, I think you would be more needed on the battlefield," Doyle answered. It was fun humoring Sarge, but Doyle had to turn him down.

"I know I'm more needed on the field, but I really want to be your bodyguard," Sarge urged.

"Well, we all can't get what we want," Doyle sighed.

"No, you don't understand... I want to be... your bodyguard," Sarge said, his voice lowering as he went on.

"Yes and I said no."

"You still don't get it... your bodyguard," Sarge repeated, emphasizing the last word. "... body... guard..."

Doyle stared in confusion as he watched Sarge touch the back of his neck nervously. It took agonisingly long for what Sarge was getting at to click. Doyle donned a look of shock as he stared right at Sarge.

"Oh... by bodyguard you mean... boyfrie-"

"Yes. Now is that a yes of a no," Sarge blurted, clearly embarrassed. Doyle doubted Sarge had much experience in romancing men or possible romance in general.

The General smiled and reached up to remove his helmet. Once it was off, Doyle set it aside and smiled at Sarge. The southern man then followed. Doyle stared at the older man's face for a moment before leaning in pecking Sarge on the cheek.

"I cannot believe you made up that whole bodyguard thing just to ask me out. You are just so smooth," Doyle laughed, pausing only to peck Sarge once more. "You ran the god damn obstacle course too. Oh my god, where you showing off? You sly, silver fox, you."

Sarge grinned and scratched the back of his head. "Well I wasn't gonna ask you yet. The plan was to get closer to you but then you did that thing with the forehead touch and I figured I oughta try."

"Well, thank goodness you did," Doyle said sweetly before kissing Sarge on the lips.


	4. Silent Mourning

Title: Silent Mourning

Summary: MAJOR RVB13 SPOILERS! Sarge's thoughts on Doyle's sacrifice.

Genre: Romance/Angst

Rating: T

Sarge had lost people before. It was a part of war, which was all Sarge seemed to know now. Losing men was something that happened and he had grown somewhat numb to it. It was like he had grown a thick skin to protect himself from the hurt of a lost life.

That said, Sarge certainly felt hurt when Doyle sacrificed himself. He felt it deep down in his war hardened heart. He could feel the tightening in his chest and the lump in his throat. But he did not cry.

His mourning was silent. He sat in the Pelican, his mind abuzz with the thought of Doyle down there, giving his life for a whole planet's worth of people. With tight lips and clenched teeth, Sarge recalled how pathetic and cowardly Doyle once was. Now he was probably one of the bravest men on Chorus. He did good, but it felt so wrong. It felt wrong to know that Doyle was gone in a fiery explosion. It felt wrong to know that he would not be able to tease or hold that persnickety tight ass again. That he would not be able to take Doyle out on that "romantic" Warthog ride he had promised.

Sarge's grip tightened around the bars that held him in his seat. He cursed himself. He cursed his aching heart. He desperately wanted to cry but he could not bring himself to do so. He hated that he could not shed a single tear for his lover. He hated it. He hated his pride and his refusal to voice his agony. He hated that he just sat there and suffered in silence. That he kept all the hurt, all the rage, all the sorrow inside. He hated himself right now.

Lowering his head, Sarge held his breath and waited for something to happen. What he was waiting for he did not know, but he waited none the less. Perhaps he half expected Doyle to chime in through his radio. Or perhaps he was waiting for the tears he longed to shed. He was not certain, but he did know one thing. He knew that he wanted to do that up tight, drama queen proud. He wanted to save Chorus for Doyle. For his lover. For his friend.

Sarge mourned in silence. Thinking of things he would tell Doyle if he could. Thinking of the good times and how great they were, no matter how fleeting. Thinking about how much he loved that stupid, snooty voice and how much he would miss it. Thinking about how one moment Doyle was here and the next he was not.

Sarge thought about Donald in silence. He thought about Donald and at long last a tear slipped down his cheek


	5. Bed Ridden

Title: Bed Ridden

Summary: Sarge lies with Doyle when he's too weak to get up and sit with him. Modern Au

Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort

Rating: T

The sheets were crisp and stark white. They were fresh and almost stung Sarge's skin as he climbed into the sterile bed with his partner. Doyle was particularly tired today, despite not doing much of anything, so Sarge joined him in his hospital bed like he always did on days like these. A strong arm wrapped gently around Doyle's scrawny frame as Doyle let his head rest on Sarge's shoulder.

Sarge was always carefully with Doyle now. Ever since Doyle had been emitted to the hospital, Sarge treated him like he was made of glass. Like the slightest touch could break the very sick man. He always moved slow and only touched with the gentlest hands. He even spoke at a softer volume now. They both missed the days when they could horse around and push and tease each other without fear of Doyle coming undone. However, they had no choice but to live in the present and play with the cards they were dealt.

Now they spent their days in the local hospital, usually talking about things or simply resting in each other's company. Today was a particularly sunny day out and Doyle was down because he had to miss it. He wanted to be out under the rays and have a taste of life outside this small box of a room. But he was too sick.

"Do you ever wonder why we're here," Doyle asked out of the blue as he shifted in Sarge's arms.

"You're sick and can't go home yet," Sarge answered. "And you can't go outside right now either..."

"No, I mean us as in the human race," Doyle said as he nuzzled his face lazily into the crook of Sarge's neck. "Why do you think we're here on earth? What's our purpose?"

"Oh. I don't know. Truth be told, I don't really think there's a reason. Maybe to just live life the best we can," Sarge answered before placing a gentle kiss on Doyle's clammy forehead.

"That sounds about right," Doyle chuckled weakly, resting his eyes a moment as Sarge gave his hair a ginger stroke. "Do you have any regrets? Anything you wish you had done differently?"

"Yeah. I'd definitely would not have bought that used car off of craigslist," Sarge chuckled. "Maybe I would've steered clear of Dianna, my highschool sweetheart."

"I'm being serious," Doyle said with another weak chuckle.

"What about you?"

"... I would've done more with my life," Doyle answered, his tone sounding sad. "I would've taken more risks. I would've gone sky diving or deep sea diving or I would've traveled around more. Definitely wouldn't have put off our wedding. Now in all our wedding photos I look sick and pathetic and you look handsome."

"Oh hush. You still looked fantastic," Sarge said, planting another kiss on Doyle's forehead.

"Sarge, I'm sorry that things turned out like this."

"Stop talking like you're dying."

"Sarge, I'm so, so sorry."

"Don't be."

"I love you so much," Doyle sniffled.

Sarge frowned and wrapped both arms around Doyle's skin and bones frame. He gave the other an ever so gentle squeeze, showering Doyle with gentle kisses, almost as if to get in ever kiss he could before his time was up. "I love you too," Sarge finally said when he rested his forehead against Doyle's. "And stop talking like you're dying. You're going to pull through. I know it."


	6. Stupid laughs and Stupid accents

Title: Stupid laughs and Stupid accents

Summary: Sarge and Doyle tease each other and act really really gay.

Genre: Romance/Humor

Rating: T

Giggling could be heard from Doyle's quarters. Luckily he had dismissed his guards or they would have to hear the love fest that was going on inside. Inside the quarters Doyle was sat upon the firm lap of Colonel Sarge, both stripped of their armor and shirts. Sarge was showering Doyle's neck with kisses, which was very ticklish. The Colonel held Doyle firmly in place by his hips to ensure that he would not escape from his private display of affection. Doyle continued to giggle and snort occasionally with each peck, but did nothing to stop it. Instead he simply held Sarge's shoulders and let him continued to give his neck attention.

Sarge smiled against Doyle's neck before pulling away. "Boy, you laugh like a giddy teenager crossed with a tiny piglet," Sarge snickered. "You sound ridiculous."

"Well, excuse me for how I express joy," Doyle scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Your laugh isn't so great either, Mister! Your laugh is gruff and sounds like a stalled engine."

"My laugh is charming and you know it, Doyle!"

"Sure, and I'm strong enough to flip a warthog by myself," Doyle snickered, giving Sarge a peck on the tip of his nose. "Don't even get me started on your accent."

"My accent?"

"Oh, I'm Sarge and I like shotguns and being loud. Grif, you lazy, insubordinate, fat ass. Simmons this. Simmons that. Dirty Blues," Doyle teased with a bad southern accent. "My favorite weapon have terrible range but I still waste ammunition trying to shoot things clearly out of reach!"

"Oh yeah? Well, I'm Doyle and I'm afraid of my own shadow. I talk like a pompous prick," Sarge teased right back with a snooty accent, over enunciating every word. "I don't understand the superiority of the shotgun and I'm not man enough to even drive a warthog, let alone look at a gun without fainting. Oh Kimball, please stop yelling at me. It hurts my fragile little feelings."

"I'm loud and rude and I think life is a war movie," Doyle said with a Sarge-like chuckle. "Dirt bags. Every last one of them. The soldiers. Dirt bags. The medics. Dirt bags. Everyone is a dirt bag. Dirt bag. Dirt bag. Dirt bag!"

"Oh dear! A gun. I'm prone to fainting so keep Grey nearby, or I might get hurt from falling over," Sarge said with a Doyle-esk giggle, flashing the man he was mocking with a smirk.

"Everybody watch out. I'm gonna drive like a mad man in this warthog. Nobody is safe when I'm behind the wheel!"

"I'm a big wuss. I could probably lift ten pound weights in a couple years if I tried really hard."

Doyle smiled and giggled again, letting his forehead rest against Sarge's. "I'll have you know that I am in passable shape," Doyle replied softly.

"Passable doesn't cut it," Sarge said with a low chuckle, his eyes locked with Doyle's. "You're still not nearly as strong as a soldier outta be."

"True, but at least I try," Doyle replied before kissing Sarge on the lips briefly. "Even with me being a pitiful soldier, I still managed to land myself the best one of them all, didn't I?"

Sarge smiled and shook his head. "True, but that's only because I think you're cute," he replied, giving Doyle's hips a squeeze. "It's your best redeeming quality."

"Are we going to continue taunting one another or are you going to take me already," Doyle asked, rolling his hips slightly to remind Sarge of what they were doing before. "I'm afraid I'm in need of your constant attention right now."

"You impatient twig," Sarge snickered before returning to Doyle's neck.


End file.
